


Let Him Live

by TatyanaIvanshov



Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [4]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Canon Rewrite, Fluff, Historical Accuracy, IM SORRY THIS IS PAINFUL I KNOW, M/M, PAAAIIIINNNNN, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Season/Series 01, cuteness, episode 7 rewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov
Summary: The scene from Season 1 Episode 7 where Louis tells Philippe that the Chevalier will be arrested and executed, rewritten to match history and my imagination. And then his return...
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Series: Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873663
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. Please

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that scene was already painful, but Taty likes PAIN so, here we are, I rewrote it how it should be since the writers of Versailles made Philippe so much less emotional and passionate than he should've been. 
> 
> Also, in history, when Louis arrested the Chevalier before exiling him, Philippe dropped to his knees and begged his brother to release him so I took from history there. 
> 
> I was planning to leave it just this scene but it was too depressing and I need more Monchevy reunions so there's a second chapter of that. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

“The Chevalier is a ringleader. All of them will be arrested.” Louis’ voice came as the sharp slice of a sword, ready to impale Philippe. Or perhaps it was more of a cold bucket of water, dropped upon him, the frostiness of it just as serrated and ready to kill as any other dagger. His lips quivered at his brother’s words, unable to believe what had just been spoken. 

“Impossible.” He mustered his strength yet was only able to gather a quivering voice, unable to hide his heart sinking to his stomach painfully as realization hit him. “He’s no conspirator.” 

“Very true. He is a traitor and will be treated as such.” 

The words were left to hang. The knife, twisted. The water, icy. 

Philippe’s heart jolted, an ache he had never known the same way before. His mind raced and fear crept up on him, morphing into utter dread. Philippe… his precious Philippe, dead. Hanged, torn limb from limb, if not worse. He saw it too clearly before his eyes, the warmth of his skin, his neck, against the harsh material of the rope, tugging at him until his bones split and he lay lifeless, dangling. He could not bear the thought. His skin crawled. 

“No.” He whispered, eyes widening when his brother began to exit the room. “No!” He screamed and lunged forward, too quick for the guards around the King to do anything about it at first. They scrambled as Philippe grabbed the King by the coat before slamming him against the wall. “No! You will release him. He is innocent!” But it wasn’t long before he was being dragged further from Louis, the guards harshly gripping his arms. He struggled, blood rushing as it never had before. Emotion filled him as tears crept up and wasted no time spilling down his cheeks. 

“Brother, compose yourself, I will not have you mourn a traitor.” His voice was void of all feeling as he straightened himself out, watching his brother struggle against the tight hold of the guards. 

“You would not even permit me to mourn the death of the man I love?” He growled, a voice quivering and tears now spilled freely. 

“We are in a chapel, my dear Philippe. Do not speak of such sin-” 

“Sin? Since when is it sin to love? Louis, you never accepted it but I do, I love him. You cannot take him from me, please! Please, you simply cannot.” Philippe choked out a cry, his face crumbling in pain, and his vision blurred. His head dipped as he cried, sobbed. Louis must’ve given command because the guards dropped the Prince and he came tumbling on the icy ground, unable to muster enough strength to stand. 

“In time, you will heal.” His calmness drove Philippe mad.

“You are ripping my heart and you tell me I will heal? Brother, I will die!” His limbs were weak but he crawled forward trembling fingers gripping at Louis’ coat. “I will die without my heart, brother, please. I will beg. I will plead for his life. Let him live, brother, I’m begging you, let him live!” He tugged but his brother made no attempt to move away or react. 

“I cannot. You must find comfort in another. If you wish to proceed in your… sinful dalliances, I will not stand in your way, but there are plenty of willing arms to fall into-” 

“I want his! Please! His are the only arms that will ever hold me, do not take them away from me. I cannot-I cannot live a life without him.” His sobs grew but he had no interest in suppressing them. They fell from his lips and he wrapped his arms around his brother’s knees, forehead resting at his thigh as his own knees began to burn against the harsh, hardwood floor. “Please, let him go.” 

“Philippe, I cannot pardon treason!” 

“He’s innocent! I know he is. Let him go, give him back to me and I will do whatever you wish. I will stand at your side for the rest of my life, I will never oppose you in anything, I swear to you, just give him back.” Philippe clawed once more, tugging at the coat until Louis had no option but to respond by trying to pull him to his feet. 

“How will you stand by my side if your allegiance lies in a lover? That alone should be enough reason to rid of him.” 

“What lies with him is my heart and my body. My allegiance lies with you! I am loyal to you and so is he.” 

“Get off the floor. Have some honor.” 

“My honor left with him. I have nothing without him, don’t you understand? Nothing!” His throat burned from the screech, his mouth falling open as his own words pierced his heart, an ache that left him breathless. 

His knees backed away as he let go of his brother to fall to the floor, forehead against the wooden planks. 

“Get up!” Louis ordered.

“My King, my brother, I’m begging you. Give him back to me. Let my Chevalier come home.” He spoke calmly, as if he wasn’t at his brother’s feet, begging for the life of the man he loved. 

“No! Get up!” 

“I have nothing to lose!” His fists plunged against the floor, painful vibrations coursing his body as he sniffled back. 

“You have a wife! You have children, a family. You have titles and lands-” 

“What use is a wife to a man like me? What use are titles and lands to one so broken and empty and hurt by his own brother? Tell me, Louis.” He spat his words with vigor and he watched Louis’ nose scrunch in disgust. 

“Is this how you act before God? Has your sin toppled your faith so easily?” 

“Leave it in God’s hands to punish me for my sins!” 

“Brother, I am-” 

“I know what you are! But I’ll tell you what you’re not- a brother! You have my wife, you have all that this Kingdom is, the entire country at your feet, you even have me but the one thing that’s mine, the one thing I cannot bear to lose, you take that from me? Must you have everything, Louis? I have one doll and you have the entire playroom!” Philippe shook, hands trembling. “Please!” He cried. 

“Your doll is a traitor. He has betrayed his King and country and for that, I will see him hanged.” 

“Please!” Philippe screeched, feeling his voice go soarer and his throat on fire but he did not care. His head once more met the floor. “I’m begging you, just please, let him go.” He wept. 

“Brother, must you make this so difficult?” Louis bent down to attempt scooping his brother to his feet but was only met with resistance as Philippe’s glistening eyes met his. 

“He is all I have.” His shoulders slumped and his face crumbled.

Louis simply watched in pity, his brother sat on the floor like a child with tears dripping to the wooden planks, eyes bloodshot red and body trembling, looking as small as the day he was born. He did not like it. He felt sorry his brother had fallen under such claws so vicious that would lead him into hysterics so, but he had no choice. If he pardoned this one, rebellion will only gain confidence. 

“I expect you at mass in the morning. I will be taking my leave, now.” Louis gestured at the guards that followed behind him as he exited the chapel, leaving the Prince to sob on the floor, body aching and heart throbbing. 

Not a bone in his body didn’t hurt as his mind raced with possibilities. What could he do? Who could he turn to? At any distress, no matter how small, no matter how large, one thing was certain- the Chevalier would always be there for him. He would hold Philippe and soothe away all worries, at times speak him truth, and open his eyes to what should be done. And now here he was. Alone. 

The last time he felt this alone was the night he met the Chevalier when he had found the Prince in the gardens, crying and took away every burden Philippe was carrying and now all that was once more on his shoulders alone, the weight merely unbearable. 

He tried to crawl to his feet, to gain some composure but all he could do was drag himself towards the cross on the wall. If he could not beg his brother, he would beg God himself, on the floor, hands unsteady as they clutched together. He prayed and he pleaded until he grew mad, until he felt his skull would split from tears and his nose burned from his continuously wiping sleeve. The floor was hard and jabbing and all he wanted was to crawl up into the Chevalier’s arms where he would be safe and loved from anything that could ever hurt him, including his own brother. But oh, how far those arms were. Probably in a jail cell somewhere. The Bastille, cold and empty. 

Was he missing Philippe? Were they treating him well? He was ready to slice in half anyone that would harm him, and for a moment, his own brother, his own King. He did not care. He was already a sodomite, a sinner, guilty of blasphemy amongst other things. Why not also a traitor? Regicide would be a small price to pay for the return of his beloved.

He felt mad, disgusted at his own thoughts. He always knew how much he cared for the Chevalier but never had he considered going so far just to have him back but at this point, there was not a care in the world. He truly had nothing to lose, nothing he cared for, nothing he held dear. His brother could take away anything else. He already had, but as long as the Chevalier was there when he returned to bed at night, he would live through it. 

But this? Who could survive this kind of heartache?

For a moment, between the howling weeps on the floor, he thought he felt it, the comforting embrace as familiar as sunlight and as warm as it too. It was so kind to him, so forgiving with a touch so delicate, he could melt under it. He craved it so bad, worse than he ever had before, he imagined it into reality. But our dreams can only exist for so long before they are ripped away, only to leave us to the cold reality that for Philippe was the chapel floor. 

He cried so hard, for a moment he felt he would drown in his own tears. He clutched his chest to stop his heart from aching so destructively. It was agony he never thought he’d feel. 

And as he lay there in the realization that he would never again touch the blonde curls or kiss those chaste lips, his wails only grew louder. He would never again hear his soft voice again, his name repeated on them in the throes of passion or when he called him ‘mignonette’. He never admitted how much he loved it. And those eyes, cunning and wild. Fuck, how he loved them, how he could lose himself in them for hours as they spoke in bed. 

If only he’d known this would happen. He would have spent every second with his beloved Philippe to memorize every bit of his presence, from the curvature of his smile to the taste of his body. Perhaps, if he shut his eyes hard enough, he could imagine once more that presence he so yearned for. Perhaps he could feel the tingling way his breath would caress his ear as he whispered the sweetest words to drive him mad with passion or overflowing love. Perhaps once more he could feel the sensation upon his skin as his beloved’s fingers traced and grazed aimlessly as if they had all the time in the world to simply love each other. 

He’d taken it for granted. All of it. His mere presence and words, he’d taken them all for granted and now, as he lay there in streaming tears with him absent, he realized exactly how much he needed his beautiful Chevalier.

His eyes began to droop as he crawled up against the wall, exhaustion weighing him down as everything continued to ache. He felt hands on him, another person’s presence but not that of the only one he needed. Philippe recognized the soft voice of his wife, soothing his hair before helping him to his feet. He wobbled, unsteady, and on the verge of collapsing once more as she took his arm and led him out. She spoke but he heard nothing. She touched him but he felt only disgust. 

He hit the soft linen sheets of his bed, only to be met by the familiar scent of his lover on the pillows. He scrambled to grasp it, burying his face in the softness as he wept, tears soaking through the white and staining not only the pillow but now his cheeks. Most of his clothes were stripped from his body though he was merely a corpse as his servants did their jobs until he lay in only his white shirt which he refused to remove.

The Prince cried all through the night, hugging the sheets and pillows on his absent lover’s side of the bed that still felt empty despite him occupying it. All he wanted was to reach out to the bundle of warmth willing to hold him. Now, more than ever, he pined for the snarky, sarcastic comments that would usually make him roll his eyes. He found himself missing the cold feet pressed up against his own or the flailing arms of discomfort that always managed to smack him in his sleep.

But he imagined. He cried so hard, so relentlessly, he was left as just a corpse, absent and aimless as he lay without a trace of life in him. Pathetic, hopeless, powerless against his own brother. As hollow as a ghost. As empty as a bottle he and the Chevalier would share. 

Though not dead, Philippe mourned him. Though still breathing, Philippe cried for him. Into oblivion as there was nothing left for him outside it. Not after this.


	2. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I completely rewrote this scene too because I hated the original with a PASSION.

“If he betrays me again, he will be hanged in public.” Philippe squeezed his eyes shut, the words, though he felt them coming, having the same harsh impact. “I am counting on you to assure that he does not.” 

Hope. 

He bowed, before exiting the King’s chambers, leaving his brother and wife to their devices as his heart raced and filled with joy. At last, after days and nights of crying, his eyes had probably swelled and his lips felt dry and lackluster. His appearance was obviously disheveled, hair a mess, clothes not tucked in properly. He was barely holding himself together but as he made his way through the hallways of the palace to his apartments, all that seemed to melt away. 

At last, his love. His sweet Chevalier that he has missed and ached for and cried a river for was back. 

He swallowed, not waiting for the guards to open the doors, instead, flinging them open the barge into the room, looking around for his eyes to fall on the blonde head of hair that swiftly turned towards him. His heart settled and jerked at the same time, tears once more threatening to spill at the sight of his lover, just as much of a mess as he was.

“My darling.” The familiar voice mumbled as he stood from the dressing table with widespread arms. Philippe could not control himself. He was mad, he wanted to hate him for what he’d put him through during the past few days but he could not. Not a bone in his body was strong enough to hold him from launching into the Chevalier’s arms, his own wrapping around his neck and he felt the powerful embrace around his waist. At last, he could breathe. He cried but no tears fell. His lover held him as his fingers ran through Philippe’s hair, untangling the knots that had formed, their bodies once more in sync, wrapped together just as they were always meant to be.

“God, I missed you so much.” Philippe squeezed, his feet lifting off the ground as the Chevalier straightened his body in the embrace. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my dear.” Lorraine buried his face in the Prince’s neck and took in the familiar scent that he brought him right home. “I’ll explain everything.” 

“Shh… It’s alright. It’s over now. He won’t take you from me again,” Philippe whispered as he pulled away to inspect his lover’s bruised, pale face. His skin was not the same, slightly rougher and his hair required some brushing, maybe a bath, and some food would be welcome as well, but the Chevalier still managed to look beautiful despite it all. Philippe fell in love with him all over again. “What have they done to you?” He shook his head as his fingers traced the bruising.

“It will heal.” 

“It better. How can I have a favorite that is anything less than perfect?” He let the back of his hand graze down his lover’s cheek as they chuckled.

“Well, right now, I am the farthest thing from perfect.” Though he forced a smile, Philippe recognized the sadness in his tone as his lover’s arms tightened around his waist. So, he reached forward to claim his lips, brushing together in a chaste kiss that took both of their breaths away. It was mere droplets of water for a man dying of thirst. At last.

“No amount of prison can make you any less perfect, my love.” His lips pressed against the Chevalier’s nose, bringing an uncontrollable grin to his face. “I, on the other hand…” He gave a timid laugh and looked away. 

“You, on the other hand, are truly a sight for sore eyes, mon bijou.” The Chevalier smiled at the Prince’s gleam, noticing everything different in the Prince. His eyes only now sparked light and his face had completely fallen, paler than usual which contrasted harshly with the darkness under his eyes and the redness within them. Yet he was still the most beautiful man in all of France, an incredible sight that he’d been starved for. 

“I would like nothing more than to hate you, to be mad. If I had it in me I’d teach you a lesson and smack you. Perhaps let you starve without my touch or tell you I have stopped loving you.” Philippe’s nose nuzzled against the other man’s cheek, like a kitten, rubbing his face against his. “But I do not think I have it in me to feel anything other than love and gratitude to have you returned to me.” 

The Chevalier smiled, taking his lips as, in his arms, he backed Philippe towards the bed, falling in a sack on top of him when the back of the Prince’s legs hit the mattress. They chuckled and Philippe threw his head back, only for the blonde to tackle his neck with full access to the valley of skin that lay willing for him, a kiss as tender as the brush of a breeze pressed against it.

“Hit me.” Another kiss against the supple skin of the Prince’s pale neck. “Hurt me.” And another, chaste and kind. “Take away everything I own.” Philippe chuckled against the tickling sensation of another kiss. “Kill me if that is what satisfies you.” His tongue brushed up the length, to his jaw. “But, for god’s sake,” He raised himself for their eyes to meet, a finger tracing down Philippe’s cheekbone. “Never stop loving me.” 

Philippe could no longer suppress the smile that stretched across his face, his heart about to burst with love for the man whose lips he brushed against, only to melt in his lover’s embrace.

“Never,” He whispered, into the kiss, at last content, happy. 

Free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'll admit, that last neck-kissing part was inspired by Alex Vlahos on Twitter kissing Gus' neck. So just imagine that but much cuter because it's Monchevy and Philippe is a cute little kitten that needs hugs and cuddles and affection. Yay!


End file.
